Body of Immorality (7 page)

Henry (what was left of him) sat, still driving, heedless of the world, and thought about the man’s question. He sifted through a whirlpool of wants and ideas. He thought of a million different things he’d wanted over the course of his life. He was still in there—locked in the back of his mind perhaps—only wanting to be alone. He didn’t want the voice in his life anymore. He wanted to enjoy the rest of the landscape while there was still light in the sky. He wanted to feel the cool breeze blowing through the window. Henry Rohrey suddenly realized his thoughts and desires were
out there
for this phantom fiend to read. All he had to do was
think
them. The voice had all it needed.

How had this happened anyway? Hadn’t he been perfectly normal minutes ago?

“
Well, that is quite a heap, quite the old dung-pile of garbage you got in that skull of yours, Rohrey. And I must say, I’m a little insulted. I mean, I’m not just gonna go
away
now, am I? After all I’ve done? There’s still so much to
do,
so much to
accomplish!
We have cities to build, treasures to bury! It all depends on the fate of man, the togetherness of a new earth, all of its lovely highways. Does it make sense to you, Rohrey-ole-girl? Am I making myself clear? Or is it sailing far and fast over your head, completely out of reach? You’re not grasping the situation is what I think. Ladies and gentleman, I think we have ourselves a
SIT-U-
A
-TION!”

Henry Rohrey didn’t know. Life, for whatever reason, suddenly made more sense now than when he’d discovered truck driving nineteen-years ago. Maybe it
wouldn’t
be bad, having a companion to share these lonely stretches of road with. Maybe chains
were
good. Maybe all he ever really needed…

Was a friend.

“
Oh, isn’t that sweet,”
the voice said.

Henry’s mind shifted into, yet, another dimension. He tried coming back to himself, but it was hopeless. It was better to let go, let the current take him. The invisible phantom manipulated him perfectly, controlling every thought and action. Henry would never regain his nerve as long as the phantom was here.

For a minute, Rohrey
did
come back to himself. For the briefest second, he did everything he could to banish the demon from his thoughts, his last attempt to salvage whatever sanity he had left, his position as a humorous, quiet man in the throes of everyday life. After all, he had something to
live
for!

“
Why don’t you just leave me the hell ALONE?”
Henry shrieked. He’d said that before, hadn’t he? “
Why don’t you take your goddamn insults, your condescending tone of voice, and shove ’em up your ASS? Do you HEAR me? Are you listening, you invisible prick? Why don’t you bring yourself into the light where I can SEE you?”

He’d worked himself up, could feel the sweat under his collar, the heat, the pressure of his running pulse. The more he thought about the voice, the more unbalanced he became. If it would show itself, he’d grab it by its thin chicken neck and—

“
Henry!”
the voice cracked like a shotgun blast. “
Henry, my friend, you have just caused a dispute that will annihilate the masses! You’ve just bought a one-way ticket to eternal darkness! Do you have anyone who can speak in your defense?”

One last gasp at his normality, his life away from the unnatural:

“Do you think I’m scared of you?” Henry asked, sweat dripping into his eyes. He realized at that moment, that he
might
be a trifle lunatic. “Do you think you
frighten
me?”

“
Ooo-ooo. You keep it in check like a good little boy. Anger is what I’ve been driving you toward! You know those dreams you had as a boy? You see them, don’t you? Right there? On the horizon?”

Henry was seething! He was ready to tear out the hearts of men! He was burning under his collar! His
ears
were on fire!

“
That’s right, Henry! Let’s
see
it! And speaking of seeing it, let’s
show
it to you, Rohrey-ole-girl! You want to see the land of marauders and self-desolation, the birth of destruction? You got it, Titty-bop-Booby. Or Wilted Titty, as the case may be. Nothing would please me more! You just take a load off! Relax. Stay a while. Sit back and enjoy the ride. You’ve
earned
it. I’ll get you a lemonade. I’ll show you some wonderful sights, yessir! I’ll show you what’s on the other side of this roundabout highway!”

Outside the cab of Baby, the world turned into a blazing inferno. The twisting, rolling hills of southern Idaho, suddenly vanished. Everything was flat. Colors swirled and coalesced, bright, warm, and mesmerizing. Everything—from a foot in front of the semi’s grill, to the horizon miles away—owned the attributes of fire. The sky burned hot yellow with billowing, black smoke. Sheets of loud, red and orange flame licked the sky. The horizon blistered and crumbled into smoldering paper. Smoke burned Henry’s eyes. He choked on the billowing fumes pouring through the cab. Baby was roaring through a holocaust.

“
You ain’t seen nothing yet, Rohrey ole girl! Times a’changing, see? You have drawn your last breath. The jungle is on fire! Strawberry Shortcake has been sent to the dogs, and it’s all your fault! The end is near! The torrential downpour! You are driving through the unending fury of Hell, Titty-bop-Booby! There’s only way to beat me, you licentious, overweight Godzilla! Put the pedal to the floor and drive on through! Or
break on through, as the case may be! You a
Doors,
fan Henry? Jim Morrison a little out of your league? One thing he said that rang true: ‘There’s a killer on the road,’ and that sonofabitch is
you,
you wilted cocksucker! For shame you let this slip away!”

Laughter bounced in every direction through the cab. It ricocheted off the windows. It seeped under Henry’s flesh.

Was there something he couldn’t see, couldn’t understand, something not only
wanting
to befriend him in a strange, unnatural way, but something
trying
to get him to do things he normally wouldn’t do?

Of course, things were different. If he let himself go, he might never come back. He knew it. Trucking was already a distant memory.

But that’s not so, Henry.
This was a voice—not
outside
of him, but
inside
now—moving his conscience aside, making room for rationale.
Your trucking life has just started. You just never saw it until now!
This
is the dream!
This
is what I did
not
want you to let slip away!

Henry was willing to participate, a silent deal made with the phantom.

“I just want to drive,” Henry pleaded.

He didn’t know it, but the phantom smiled, looking in his direction. Rohrey kept his eyes on the flaming road, the burning terrain.

Yes, as long as he could drive…

Again, the view outside the cab shifted. The burning horizon disappeared, and he was back among the twisting roads of southern Idaho.

The road, however, was no longer
under
the wheels of the semi. He’d taken a detour during the holocaust. Highway 91 was behind him to the east. Baby was now brutalizing one of the small island civilizations under the relentless fury of eighteen wheels. Henry steered Baby over and through backyard barbecues, swing sets, garbage cans, mailboxes, doghouses, tool sheds, lawnmowers, motorcycles, and other various, gangly forms of motorized vehicles and lawn equipment. The rig bounced and jolted; it wailed and screamed, but never wavered. Baby roared through neighborhood houses. Baby screamed through American lives.

A shovel landed on the scarlet hood. Twisting metal screeched through the air. Glass shattered. A bright shiny red smeared the windshield. A living room curtain replaced the shovel and quickly blew away. Various tools flew through the air on each side of the rig as Henry plowed through manicured lawns, fences, houses, and tool sheds. People of all shapes, sizes, and ages—hands in the air, terrified, and screaming—fled in all directions.

He’d never had so much fun in his life!

Rohrey pressed the pedal closer to the floor.

If this wasn’t entertainment,
nothing
was! If this was how he was supposed to replace the lonely nights, he welcomed it! He was a child. His dreams had come true at an absurdly tender age…

It’s been a long time since you were able to relax,
he thought.
Soak in good cheer. Root for the bad guys.

“
Yes sir! Whoo-eee! That’s what I’m
talking about, Rohrey ole girl! That’s the issue I’ve been trying to make! The light, Rohrey, the light! You have come into the light, and things are
definitely
brighter! Or at least more red! Hehehe! Yee-haaww!”

Something nudged Henry’s ribs, an elbow in his side. The phantom laughed. It was sitting next to him, a tangible shadow.

He’d never found a situation so comical, he admitted. Yes, Rohrey was enjoying himself. A clown lived inside him, and goddamnit, he was making the most of
every
second!

From what Henry saw, the town he’d bulldozed through was completely demolished, a blood-filled graveyard as Baby roared through it all. The screams echoed in his ears, the sight of horror-stricken faces…

Then suddenly, all was quiet.

Rohrey turned the truck around, rumbling over broken fences, and upturned lawns. He looked for the highway again. No one chased him. He did not hear sirens.

Dusk moved over the horizon. Stars came out one by one.

Henry turned on the headlights. In the distance, a row of dual beams was coming his way down the road.

“
Now, you got to be careful, Rohrey-ole-girl! When the cars come, you just wait and veer a little to the left. You’ll hit them—
smack
—
head on, see? It’s reeeaall easy. Like poppin’ popcorn! Like dancin’ the jig!”

Henry pushed the accelerator all the way to the floor. The engine whined with new, demented life. Baby was picking up speed!

“
Hell yes, Henry! It’s a new start. I knew you had it in ya! You ain’t all yellow! It’s the start of something beautiful, girly-boy, can’t you
see? Damn, ain’t it pretty! We’ll see all the new sights, take in a movie or two! We’ll see the Grand Canyon, Mt. Rushmore!”

An eagerness Rohrey waited his whole life for enveloped him now. For some reason, he’d made the phantom happy. What had he really done but be himself? And to whom did he owe his gratitude?

Henry discerned the shadowy specter sitting beside him, his newfound friend, the origin of that ghostly voice. It
was
a shadow—a lunatic jester, perhaps a long time rival like a black silhouette.

It felt good to be a part of the highway again, to have a friend to share the…interminable hours with.

“Five syllables,” Henry said, chuckling.

The phantom slapped its knee in lunatic delight. Henry steadied the wheel, readying the semi for the cars coming down Highway 91.

Take everything with a little grain of salt,
Henry thought,
and find your place in the world amid the chaos and destruction.

Henry had found his place and a friend to share it with, and this was only the beginning. Explorers dared to dream, hoped to find such miracles. Maybe chains weren’t so bad.

Henry’s pal looked at him and smiled; the shadow’s cheeks rose and swelled. The phantom put a hand on Henry’s knee and nodded, enforcing how perfect everything was. Destiny had brought them together. As long as they had each other, things would be perfect, a life filled with joy.

Plentiful joy. Always destruction.

The lights of the cars grew closer, brighter. With a face similar to the phantom’s own, Henry bent over the wheel, tongue clenched between his teeth. He looked to the side for confirmation. His counterpart nodded, urging him on.

“
Yessir! Titty-bop-booby!”
it shrieked.

The phantom snarled, a twisting, maniacal grin. It hopped up and down in the seat, excited. The phantom slapped Henry on the back.

Friends always know what’s best for you,
Henry thought.

He leaned farther over the wheel, wanting to be closer to the road, a part of Baby in a way he’d never thought possible.

Giving the semi everything he had, Henry braced himself for the first, initial impact.

Round and round,
he thought.
Like saving Lois Lane.

When it came, it was everything he imagined and more, the loud, shrill of grinding, exploding metal, the sound of screams…

Henry Rohrey felt…like Superman.

They Closer They Got

“Below with love! Below with love!” Tommy Folleter lounged on deck of
Preservation
.

A bit drunk,
Tallard thought.

“Up with the comet! Up with the comet!” Art Langly answered from the galley.

Carl Tallard laughed. These sayings never made sense. They weren’t
supposed
to, Tallard knew. He’d given up trying to understand his friends’ patois, but he enjoyed their company nonetheless. ’Loved having them here because paradise was on the Pacific, and the bright blue ocean and friends, Tallard thought, were among the finer things in the known universe. Dreams coming true was a rare thing. At forty-two, he’d heard his share of rags to riches stories. The stories, to Tallard, seemed lifetimes, worlds away where only God and movie stars existed. Sure, you saw them on the big screen every day, but where did they actually
live?

Carl Tallard wasn’t a movie star or a professional baseball player. He was Captain of
Preservation,
the sixty-foot houseboat, that was, in all aspects, his American Dream.
Preservation
was his personal Hollywood. For forty-two years, luck had patted him on the back. He was in good health; he controlled his drinking. He had a deep, bronzed tan. He played the stock market, something his father (God rest his soul) taught Tallard when he was just a pup. Thanks to the tips he’d received from Sea Monsters Inc. (coincidence he could not resist) he’d invested his savings, and the dividends had proved lucrative. Carl was a man made by intuition. He listened, gambled, and nine times out of ten, the odds shifted in his favor. Because of dad and Carl’s intuition (his love for the Pacific blue waters),
Preservation
had been born, purchased, and docked at the marina at Santa Cruz. Here, Tallard could explore—at leisure—the deep, mysterious wonderland, the Ocean.